


Roommates

by Arcwin



Series: Unilock AU [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff and Crack, John Watson Plays Rugby, M/M, OMG They Were Roommates!?!, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 18:45:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18413732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcwin/pseuds/Arcwin
Summary: John has an arsehole roommate that leaves moldy food all over the dorm "for an experiment."Sherlock has an arsehole roommate who complains about his experiments and leaves his detestable rugby gear out.John has a crush on this curly haired bloke he passes on his way to rugby practice.Sherlock thinks this rugby player with sandy hair and a lopsided grin is pretty darn cute.





	1. Chapter 1

**_Mike_ **

_ >>Have you met him yet? _

_ <<Nah. He’s got a totally different schedule than me, I guess. _

_ >>Hm. What’s his major? _

_ <<No clue. He’s got a stack of random notes on his desk covered in chemistry equations, though none of it looks like the stuff that I remember from third year chem. _

_ >>Maybe he’s in an advanced course? _

_ <<Maybe. Who knows. Hey, you have the notes from bio? _

_ >>Yeah, come by mate. _

 

“What in the  _bloody hell!_?”

John was dreaming. He had to be. There was  _no_   _way_  that his entirely absent, entirely  _daft_  wanker of a roommate didn’t actually  _think_  that leaving moldy food out on every flat surface in the dorm was an acceptable idea.

First, it was shock. Then,  **rage**.

John was livid. It’d been two weeks since university started for the year and he hadn’t laid eyes on his roommate once. Hell, he’d assume he didn’t even have one except the man made enormous messes in the flat on a regular basis. Up until now he’d just let it pass, thinking that perhaps this was the first time his roommate had been out on his own.

But  _moldy food_? On  _John’s desk_? That’s where he drew the line.

He grabbed the closest piece of paper he could find that wasn’t covered in filth and scratched out a note.

_Hey--_

_Mind not leaving moldy food all over the dorm?_

_It’s  disgusting. _

_\--JW_

There, that ought to do it. After taping it to his roommate’s bureau, John snatched up his phone and took a few photos. There’s no way Mike would believe him otherwise. And, good to have evidence in case he needed to file any complaints with the headmaster. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that--he’d never had issues with roommates before, and he didn’t particularly want to start now.

It was a short debate with himself about whether he wanted to make the arsehole clean up his desk, or if he should just do it himself. The bin was within reach, and there didn’t seem to be as much on his desk as the other surfaces, so he sighed and swept the disgusting food off as quickly as he could. Being in pre-med meant he had plenty of sanitizing cleansers on hand, so he sprayed down his workstation before tossing his bag into the chair for studying later.

He glanced over at his roommates’ desk, which looked like a bomb of moldy bread had gone off in the middle of it, and shuddered. There were papers strewn everywhere, hanging off the shelves above the desk and scattered around on the floor. It was a pigsty, and John hated it. Maybe he  _would_  complain to the headmaster. Two weeks in, and it was only getting worse. If things didn’t get better, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to tolerate it. Sighing to himself, he turned away and shrugged out of his clothing for class. His jersey top and shorts slid on comfortably, raising goosebumps on his skin, but he ignored it. Taking one last look around, he snatched up his rugby gear and water bottle and walked out into the hallway.

**_Mike_ **

_ <<Bloody hell. _

_ >>What’re you on about? _

_ <<MOLDY FOOD. _

_ >>...? _

_ <<He left it on everything! _

_ >>Oh, the ghost roommate? _

_ <<He’s an arsehole ghost. _

_ >>File a complaint? _

_ <<Left a note. _

_ >>Right. That’ll fix it. Rugby tonight? _

John could hear the sarcasm in Mike’s text, but he couldn’t be bothered to argue with him. He’d just stepped out onto the main lawn of the campus and less than fifty metres away stood the young man he’d passed on his way to the dining hall before practice every day since uni began.

The pair seemed destined to cross paths, and John wasn’t complaining. He seemed to be John’s age, if not slightly younger, but he was dressed to the nines every day as if he was going to a Fortune 500 company meeting.

To say that the man wore a suit did both the man  _and_  the suit injustice. It barely scratched the surface of how these two items complimented each other, seemed to  _need_  each other.

Today it was a dark, bespoke number, tailored to hug every curve, with perfectly cut sleeves and trousers to match his lanky frame. The crisp, white shirt was open at the collar, as it always was, teasing a peek at the porcelain skin of the man’s throat. In contrast, his dark auburn brown curls bounced around his head as he walked toward John, forever wild and untamed yet somehow perfectly coiffed. As always, John’s gaze lingered on the stranger’s face, tracing over his prominent cheekbones and drinking in his crystal clear eyes.

John was in awe today, as he was  _every_  day.

When he saw him that first day, John thought the man was disinterested in him. He stared, taken aback by his ethereal beauty, too impressed even to smile. The man noticed John’s open-mouthed gape, blinked, and looked away.

That night, John was grateful his roommate kept odd hours as he wanked and fell asleep.

The second day they crossed paths, John knew he was blushing, thinking about the previous night, but he still managed a small smile at the gorgeous stranger. The man stared, his head cocked to the side, blinked twice, and looked away. As John passed him, he heard him clear his throat, and he wondered what his voice sounded like.

By the time they reached the second week of interactions, John knew exactly how this stranger’s voice sounded.

“Hey,” he said, immediately regretting how idiotic it sounded.

Blink, blink. Then, “Good afternoon.”

As John opened his mouth to say something else, the man veered away to the right and disappeared, hopping onto a bus that had just pulled up at a stop. John watched for far too long, searching for the man amongst the rest of the students, until he tripped on a curb and nearly stepped into traffic.

Wanking with both the  _face_ and the  _voice_ , now that was  _wonderful_. He wasn’t even embarrassed about it anymore, wishing he had the man’s name so he could moan it while he orgasmed.

 _Next time_ he’d get it.

And now, it  _was_ the next time as he walked towards the man, having completely forgotten about the moldy food in his dorm. Shoving his phone into his rugby bag, John put on his best smile and walked directly up to his quarry, stopping him dead in his tracks as they nearly bumped into each other.

“No running off this time, hm?” John said, tilting his head in his best pleading expression. “I’m John,” he added, gaze settled firmly on the man’s cupid’s bow lips. His own mouth felt dry, so he swallowed harshly and waited. When the man remained silent, peering down at him with widened eyes, he smiled again and joked, “This is when you tell me _your_ name.”

He could see the wheels turning in the man’s head as he considered the request, eyes unblinking until he finally nodded. “Sherlock,” he murmured.

John had never heard such a bizarre name, though he wasn’t too surprised that his otherworldly crush had an otherworldly name. It suited him, somehow. Just like his own name suited him. Short, blunt, and ordinary.

Immediately, John felt a bit of his earlier bravado ebb away as the pair stared at each other, waiting for the other to say something more. What in the world was he planning on saying next? He came into this wanting the man’s name so he could moan it later that night. He hadn’t really expected much else. Now that he had Sherlock’s full attention, he realized how ridiculously mismatched they were, and the hot creep of shame began tingling his cheeks.

“You’re a student here.” Stupid!

“Hm,  _obviously_ ,” Sherlock replied, still staring into John’s soul. “And you’re a rugby player.”

The snark in his voice was unmistakable--he thought John was an idiot. And, perhaps he  _was_  for initiating the conversation at all. “I’m  _more_  than a rugby player,” John argued, already defensive. He was used to proving people wrong about him, showing them how intelligent he was. This would be no different.

“Well, yes, and the top of your class in pre-med. Likely to graduate with  _cum laude_ , no doubt. So much talent packed into such a compact frame.  _Fascinating_ ,” Sherlock said, running his tongue over his teeth inside his mouth.

John frowned, caught off guard, then looked down at his body to double check his clothing and gear was correct. Sometimes in a rush, he’d run off to practice still holding his backpack full of bio and anatomy texts, but it wasn’t the case today.

“How did you…?”

Waving his hand, Sherlock smirked. “Same way I can tell you’ve been wanking off to me since we met two weeks ago.”

If John had a mirror, he wouldn’t have needed it to know that the color drained completely from his face. He wasn’t necessarily... _out_ , per se, and this university wasn’t known for being particularly friendly to anything that wasn’t considered “normal.” He braced himself for an attack, and decided to put himself out there in a way that only the young seem to have the balls for.

“Was it that obvious?” he asked, grinning up at Sherlock.

Rouge quickly colored Sherlock’s pale cheeks, accenting his cheekbones. “Not…,” he paused to clear his throat. “Not  _really_. Lucky guess,” he confessed, his hand clenched at his side.

Dropping his guard, John shoved gently at Sherlock’s arm. “You wanker!”

“No, I believe that’s  _your_ title,” Sherlock countered, lips twitching as he fought a grin.

John shook his head and adjusted his shoulder strap. “Listen, I gotta get some food before I go to practice. Join me?”

The gleeful expression faded from Sherlock’s face as he looked away. “Not tonight. I’m...on a case. Another night, perhaps?”

“A case?”

“I do consulting work with the campus police. I’ll explain later.” He looked down at his watch and swore under his breath. “Duty calls. Good night, _John_. Enjoy…,” he gestured vaguely at John’s jersey and shrugged. Without another word, he sidestepped John and stalked away.

“Tomorrow night?” John called after him, hating how hopeful he sounded. Sherlock didn’t reply, though he waved a  _thumbs-up_ in the air.

“Tomorrow night,” John whispered to himself with a grin.

* * *

Sweaty, disheveled, and exhausted, John returned to his dorm after practice having completely forgotten about the issue from before. As he dropped his bag onto his bed, he noticed a small scrap of paper on his pillow.

_It’s for an experiment._

_\--SH_

John stared, hoping that if he  _kept_  staring the note might, at some point, make sense to him.

Then he remembered the moldy food.

And there it was, still everywhere except his desk. How he didn’t smell it when he came in at first was a mystery, but he could smell it now. Checking the time, he swore to himself and sighed. He had only been gone for three hours, and he somehow missed his roommate entirely. He would have liked to give him a good dressing down in person, but notes seemed to be the only way they could communicate.

Fine. He could write another note. This time he wouldn’t be so nice about it.

But first, he’d eliminate the mold problem entirely. He wanted his arsehole roommate, the elusive “SH” to do it, but short of setting a spring trap for the man it didn’t seem likely he’d get his way. Right as he was about to pull out his cleaners, the phone dinged in his rugby bag.

**_Mike_ **

_ >>Did he clean it up? _

_ <<Course not. Says it’s “for an experiment?” _

_ >>What kind of experiment? _

_ <<What’s the fastest method of pissing off a roommate? _

_ >>lol _

_ <<I’m getting rid of it.  My dorm is not a petrie dish. _

_ >>Gross. Good luck! _

_ <<Thanks mate. I wish I could just meet him. Then maybe we’d sort things out. _

_ >>sort things out = fight about it _

He laughed. Mike was right, he really wanted to slug this bastard. He’d been in more than one row when he was in primary school, and generally things went his way. Plus, any bloke studying chemistry and biology like this was bound to be a bit of a wimp, he reasoned. Maybe he’d get lucky and catch the man soon. Then, he’d really give him a piece of his mind...and his fist.

But first, his dorm had to be set right. So, he went about it, cleaning every surface thoroughly with disinfectant with the windows thrown wide to air out the smell. As the evening chatter in the courtyard below wafted up to his room, he snatched up another piece of paper and a pen. Outside, the crickets chirped as darkness settled, and he found his rage fading. He should have written when he was proper angry, but now he had lost his steam and wanted to just sit and study.

_SH--_

_Stick to the lab next time or I’ll complain to the headmaster._

_\--JW_

Cracking open a beer and his physio text, he settled at his desk and let the breeze ruffle his hair while he studied for his test. It didn’t take long for his thoughts to drift to his conversation with Sherlock, which served to brighten his mood and tighten his pants. When it was too difficult to concentrate, he set the book aside, chugged the last of his beer, and got into bed.

And, _yeah_ , even though he knew Sherlock could tell, he imagined the posh git’s mouth wrapped around his cock as he came.


	2. Chapter 2

**Mycroft**

_ <<Hateful. _

_ >>Yes, brother mine? _

_ <<I cannot believe mother and father wouldn’t pay for a single room. _

_ >>Roommate troubles? _

_ <<You knew this would happen. _

_ >>Sherlock, we all knew. Stop whining about it. _

_ <<he threw away my mold samples! _

_ >>I have more pressing matters to attend to than your petty feud with a pedestrian. Figure it out. _

“Arsehole!” Sherlock slammed his phone down on the desk, taking out more frustration than his brother was worth. It was ridiculous, really, that his parents expected him to exist in such an infuriating environment. There is no reason they could not afford a single room. Perhaps Mycroft convinced them he ought to share for _his own good_. His brother was always focused on making his life _miserable_ , and this was yet another example of his ill intent. He’d call his mother later and complain.

“Stick to the lab next time, hmph,” he grumbled, staring at the note his roommate _JW_ had left him. “The lab won’t let me conduct my own experiments without professor approval, and I have yet to find a professor that’s willing despite the obvious importance of the results for my case.” Sherlock shook his head, his unruly curls falling into his eyes. Swiping a hand across his face, he knocked them away and glared at the opposite side of the dorm. Perhaps if he focused, he’d be able to identify enough about his roommate that he’d be able to get on the man’s good side. Another complaint to the headmaster was the last thing he needed.

Gaze falling to the rugby bag on the floor, his thoughts drifted to his now routine evening rendezvous with the handsome man named John. He wondered if perhaps his irritating roommate and John knew each other. They clearly had practice together. _Curious_.

This evening’s interaction was his favorite so far. As they approached each other on the green, a blush darkened John’s neck and cheeks. Sherlock smirked--the man had continued masturbating while thinking about him. It made his heart race, thinking about John’s strong hands wrapped around his cock while he bit back Sherlock’s name.

Oh, how he _liked_ this.

Not because he found it fascinating, these visceral, _physical_ feelings of arousal he had for John. He liked feeling _wanted_ , liked feeling _normal_ enough for someone to be attracted to him. He liked the fact that John, after several interactions, didn’t seem repelled by his bizarre nature or standoffish attitude. Maybe John thought he was playing hard-to-get, which was absurdly inaccurate but not impossible. The truth was that his palms were sweaty, his heart shuddered, and the blood pounded in his ears every time he started walking across the green. He knew he’d see John--it had become part of their evening ritual--and he was both _terrified_ and _thrilled_.

And, they were heading quickly to the realm of prolonged interaction. He _wanted_ it, no doubt there, but he lacked confidence in his ability to keep himself from _ruining it_ entirely. John seemed to think they needed to eat together as their next step. Sherlock didn’t understand how it was such a milestone, as normal people eat every day, but he could feel it in John whenever he mentioned it.

 _Tomorrow_. He’d say yes, tomorrow. No more putting it off. This was going to go somewhere, that much he was sure of. Whether it would end up in a bed or in the flames of public humiliation, he had no idea. Both were terrifying.

* * *

“Yes,” he said the moment they met on the green. He’d dressed especially nice today, wearing a rich purple shirt and black suit. The dark color offset his pale skin, making him glow in the early evening lamplight. He knew he looked ravishing before examining John’s face, which was flushed pink and gaping.

“...yes?” John asked, frowning. “Yes what?”

Sherlock inhaled, and as he breathed out a broad smile tugged at his lips. He turned and pointed towards the dining hall in the distance. “Hungry?”

John licked his lips and nodded. “ _Starving_.”

The pair strode off, walking so close the backs of their hands brushed occasionally, and Sherlock’s blood sang in his ears. It was happening, it was _finally_ happening. They were going to supper, and then…

And then, the possibilities raced through his mind. So many available, and he didn’t know which direction to go. So for now, he followed John as they entered the dining hall, grabbing a few a-la-carte items and sitting with him at the table closest to the exit. His companion slung the rugby bag across the back of his chair and sat, immediately tearing into the shepherd’s pie he grabbed. Sherlock watched, enamored, until John looked up with a mouth full of food.

“Hm?” he mumbled. Swallowing, he picked up his glass of water and took a large gulp. “Something wrong?”

Sherlock shook his head, internally chuckling at the man’s use of food to stifle his anxiety. He wished he had such a skill, as his heart would not stop racing but the thought of eating made him feel nauseous.

“You’re not eating,” John commented, putting down his fork.

“I...to be honest, I don’t eat much. I just wanted to spend time with you,” Sherlock admitted, feeling his cheeks heat with embarrassment.

John smiled, and Sherlock knew this was a private event reserved just for him.

“Well, what would you like to know about me?” John asked, folding his hands in front of him on the table. Around them, the clatter of forks on plates and idle chatter seemed to fade as the man stared at him, blue-gold eyes soft and friendly. A light brown stubble covered his chin and cheeks, and his blonde hair was wind swept and falling down onto his forehead. His hand, tan from the rugby practices, came up to brush it aside, and Sherlock was speechless.

He needed to kiss this man _immediately_.

“Do you _have_ to go to practice tonight?” he blurted out.

John’s eyes widened and he glanced down at his bag. “Well, technically, no. It was an extra night of drills set up by the team captain. We have a game in about a week, so...I could always text him and say I have some studying to do…” His hand dug into the side of his bag, pulling out his phone and tapping out a quick message. The signature _swoosh_ signalled it being sent, and then John dropped it back into its place.

“Come _study_ at my dorm,” Sherlock commanded, surprising himself with his bravery.

John nodded and took another gulp of water, then stood. “Lead the way.”

They barely made it out of the dining hall before John had Sherlock pinned against the nearest wall, snogging him senseless. His rugby bag slid off his shoulder and fell the floor with a thump at their feet, but neither of them cared. John’s hands made quick work of Sherlock’s suit buttons, snaking inside to yank his shirt out of his trousers.

“Oi! You two!” a security guard snapped, shining his flashlight on them. “Not in public!”

Sherlock pushed John away from him and breathlessly nodded. “Come on, John!” he urged, linking their hands together and pulling him off towards his dorm. He desperately hoped his idiotic roommate wasn’t there. No matter--if he was, he’d just throw him out into the hallway. Nothing was coming between him and John. He laughed, overwhelmed and excited, and John joined him with a giggle

As they wove through the swarms of students leaving evening classes, John squeezed Sherlock’s hand. He glanced back, and was met with a broad, enthusiastic grin. Sherlock smiled back, feeling his heart lift with joy, and increased his speed back towards his dorm.

“Funny, your dorm is near mine. We never see each other over here, though,” John commented as they made their way around the buildings.

Sherlock cut across the grass, ignoring the _Do Not Walk_ signs, and chuckled. “We must have opposite schedules.”

“Must have,” John agreed as they rounded the final corner for Sherlock’s dorm. “Hm, this _is_ a coincidence. I live here too! What floor are you on?”

“Third,” Sherlock commented as he swiped his keycard at the door. It clicked and he flung it open, pulling John inside and pushing him against the wall. He caged him with his arms and leaned in, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “I have a terrible roommate, though. If he’s here, I’ll remove him against his will.”

John grinned, then pushed up on his heels to plant a sloppy kiss on Sherlock’s mouth. “Good,” he commented, then kissed him again. “I have one of those, too. Looks like we have even more in common.”

“Looks that way,” Sherlock agreed, then wove his hand into John’s and pulled him up the steps.

They sped down the hallway, rounding the bend past the common area on this floor, and Sherlock counted out the doors on his left as they walked.

One, two, three, four, and…

“You're joking,” John gasped as Sherlock fumbled in his pocket for his key.

“Not currently,” Sherlock disagreed as he searched another pocket. Where was that bloody key?!

John's hand left his, reaching into his bag. He pulled out his own keys and flipped them around in his hand, then shoved one into the door. Just as Sherlock was about to ask him what was going on, the lock clicked and John shoved it open.

And then, he walked in, uninvited, and dropped his bag in the same spot he always does, next to his desk. Glancing back, he smirked and walked over to Sherlock's bureau to snatch up the note he had left earlier that day.

“I'll just tell you in person,” John said, fighting a smile. “It says _SH, I may be bringing back a date tonight. No science experiments, if you please. JW_.” Sherlock, rooted to the doorway, blinked. “The W stands for Watson. H is for…?”

“Holmes.” Though everything was falling into place, Sherlock still didn't want to believe his eyes. It couldn't be true, and yet... here they were.

“I'm afraid you may have changed your mind,” he suggested, dropping his gaze to his feet.

John strode forward, winding his arms around Sherlock’s waist and pulling him into the room. He kicked the door shut and stepped forward, pressing the taller man against it. “On the contrary, Sherlock Holmes, I find this all rather _amusing_ .” Shoving his hands under Sherlock’s shirt, he tugged at a nipple while sucking on the side of his neck. “And _convenient_ ,” he added, looking over at first Sherlock’s bed, then his own.

“You’re implying that we have...choices?”

John nodded. “So long as you promise me--experiments stay at the lab.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, earning him a poke in the ribs. He squirmed and swatted John’s hand away, saying, “ _Promise_ , **_promise_**!”

Pressing his hips into Sherlock’s, John threw him an impish grin. “Where would you like to start?”

“Start?”

“ _Yours_ or **_mine_**?”

Blushing furiously, Sherlock swallowed and gestured with his chin at his own bed. “Mine. Who _knows_ what you get up to in yours.”

* * *

**_Mycroft_ **

_ >>Roommate troubles resolved, I take it? _

_ <<Shut it, Mycroft. _

_ >>Manners, Sherlock. I was merely curious. _

_ <<Leave me alone. _

_ >>Is he coming home to meet Mummy on break? You do know how she likes to give approval. _

_ <<I hate you. _


End file.
